Return of the Scorched Hero
by Introvert On Board
Summary: A betrayal leaves the Hero of Olympus to take refuge in Alaska. Building his life from the burnt remains of his past, Percy Jackson is more than happy to leave his old life behind him, but when a new threat and prophecy arises he's forced to face the facts: The past can never stay buried. It was time for the Hero of Olympus to stop running.
1. Preface

**"** a sharpened dagger stabbed in his heart, ripping in two, ripping apart.  
it took only a few words, but her words cut him deep, stealing emotions, making him weak.  
a two-sided mirror true in reflection, a double-edged knife cutting connections, a place in his heart forever reserved for the one that he loved but didn't deserve.  
she twisted the dagger; it tore him apart.  
she stole what was left; she stole a broken heart **"  
** **—Quinn** , _Heartbreak Like a Dagger_


	2. A Break-Up Between Two Demigods

The air felt thick and heavy around Percy Jackson as he slowly walked along the beach. The sand grains dug into his feet, and he knew that for other people it would be uncomfortable but to him, it gave him a sense of peace. It was nice to pretend that everything was fine, he thought with a faraway look in his eyes. However, Percy was no idiot; he knew things where far from fine, at least for him. The nightmares had been relentless, every since Tartarus.

Some night he didn't even sleep, just to rest his mind from the soul-ripping memories of his adventures in the forsaken place. He had nobody he could share it with, except Annabeth and, on a lower scale, Nico. But Percy didn't want to burden her even more with reminders of Tartarus. He could see it every time he looked into her hurricane gray eyes. Percy was simply a bad reminder of all the things that had happened to her and Annabeth was just a reminder to him as well. It wasn't healthy for either of them.

Percy could recall a time when he thought pain brought people together. But he had grown since then. It was unpredictable; pain either brought people together or set them apart. Usually, it set them apart. At least that was the case between him and Annabeth. He loved her, but love could lose against many things, like torturous pain that left you with PTSD.

Their relationship was slowly slipping out of Percy's hands, like sand. Inch by inch, he found himself becoming more uncomfortable with the awkward kisses they shared. He didn't try to fool himself. Percy loved Annabeth and she loved him, but not in the same way as before. For a fleeting moment, Percy wondered if the others noticed, but he pushed the thought out of his mind. The last thing their group of friends needed was to worry about was things like that.

Leo had caused quite the outrage when he arrived at Camp Half-Blood with Calypso next to him. Percy chuckled as he remembered the shocked expressions of everyone who'd seen his very dramatic return. But there had been no time for extravagant parties celebrating Leo's return. Instead, the elf-ish boy and Calypso volunteered to deliver a newly turned mortal Apollo to wherever he needed to be.

Percy had tried not to be bitter about it. He could remember a time when he had relaxed, after the Second Titan War, and then Hera swooped in and dumped him at the Roman Camp. It was nice to know that he hadn't received special treatment and that every Demigod's life was deemed 'expendable' to the gods.

His slow walking suddenly halted as he saw a familiar looking blonde sitting on the edge of the surf, her feet dipped into blue water. Annabeth was wearing her 'I'm thinking, don't disturb me' expression and Percy wondered if it was such a good idea to interrupt her.

Biting his bottom lip, Percy's green eyes scanned the beach for any other curfew-breakers. He found no one else so he took a step forward, hesitated, and then walked forward until he was right next to Annabeth. She didn't move as he plopped down next to her, leaning backward and cranking his head to look up at the darkening sky.

"Breaking curfew?" he finally said, teasingly even though he wasn't in the joking mode. "Didn't take you for a delinquent, Wise Girl."

It did the trick. She looked at him, the tiniest of smiles on her lips. Her eyes were the same as always: calculating and ruthless. They were swirling, almost hypnotically, and they seemed to brighten when she looked at him. But there was something else, something Percy couldn't interpret precisely. He had a strong idea what it was. The goofy smile on his face fell and they just stared at each other in silence. Green eyes, which always gave away Percy's emotions and thoughts, meeting gray eyes, which belonged to the girl who held his heart.

Or used to hold his heart. It was time to face the facts: They loved each other, but it was in the way you loved your family. The same family love he felt for his cousins, Piper, Jason, Leo, Hazel, and Frank. He wasn't in love with Annabeth. His heart lifted every time he saw her but it didn't beat wildly in his chest.

"You didn't know?" Annabeth replied, her tone teasing but the expression on her face wasn't. "Your bad habits rubbed off on me. Breaking curfew, eating too much blue food. I've become unpredictable!"

She threw her hands in the air dramatically, sporting an intense look of fake superiority.

"You can never eat too much blue food."

They shared a laughed and she settled back down, looking pleased that she managed to make him laugh. They submerged in an awkward silence again, both of them sneaking looks at the other. Neither had the courage to speak first.

After what seemed like an hour of listening to the steady beat of the water hitting the sand, Annabeth cleared her throat and Percy raised his eyes to look at her. Her blonde hair, which was out of its ponytail, looked like a river of dark yellow as she twisted the dirty blonde strands between her fingers.

"I'm sorry," she said, her shoulders slumping as if she was admitting defeat. Percy allowed himself to wrap an arm around her, his face softening when she gently leaned out of his reach. "I just- Every time I look at you, I see . . . ."

"I'm sorry, too," Percy responded softly, grabbing her hand so that she looked at him. He could see tears swimming in her eyes and hated how much pain she was in. "For not loving you the way I should," he added. "And for reminding you so much of that place."

A small tear escaped her eyes, drawing a path down her face before dripping off her chin. Percy remembered humorously how his nosebleed had woken up the Earth Goddess-Gaea; just a drop of blood that had dripped off his chin, the same way Annabeth's tear had. Except her tear didn't cause the start of a war.

Annabeth gripped his hand tighter, drawing in a sharp breath. "Every time I close my eyes . . . I see you and that expression on your face when you faced off against Akhlys and you controlled her own poison." Her eyes found his face again. "It wasn't natural for something like that to happen. Every time I look at you-"

"You feel like your back in Tarturus," he finished for her. He couldn't feel hurt at the look of relief on Annabeth's face because he was feeling ultimately relieved as well. Someone understood-Annabeth understood. She sniffed and let go of his hand to wipe her eyes.

"You get it," she whispered. "You understand."

"We need to break up," Percy responded, not unkindly, but in a soft voice that he only heard himself use when he talked to his mother. Annabeth nodded, not looking shocked at his suddenness. "This relationship is too much. It's not healthy for us to get nightmares because of each other."

Annabeth nodded again, not saying anything to interrupt him. "But I don't want to just cut you out of my life," she told him hastily. "You've been my best friend since we were twelve. And"-she paused, clearly trying to swallow a lump in her throat-"you're the only person who's been there, other than Nico. But he's been so happy lately, with Will and the rest of the Apollo cabin . . . ."

"I don't want to burden him either," Percy said, shifting his eyes away from Annabeth and looking at the horizon again. "So we agree, then? Broken up, but friends?"

He held out his hand for her, watching curiously as she studied it then finally took it. Her hand was rough from years of fighting and climbing the Lava Rockwall, calluses adored her palm but Percy knew she could feel his own calluses too. "Broken up, but friends," Annabeth firmly repeated, giving his hand a hard shake before letting go and rising to her feet.

"I better go back before Malcolm or the others discover I'm gone." Then she walked away and Percy watched her go, her figure quickly fading to an outline. Percy sighed and looked back at the sea. It was restless, pounding the sand relentlessly as the waves became choppier and more unsettled. Percy figured that his dad must've been in a bad mood or it was him subconsciously making the sea act on his emotions.

The sky was quickly darkening and the air felt chilly and . . . electric? What had gotten Zeus pissed? Percy rolled his eyes as thunder sounded from the sky, followed a few seconds after by a lightning bolt that briefly light up the night.

He didn't know how long he sat there, staring at the ocean and sending annoyed glances at the occasional thunder and lightning. By the time he stood up and headed back to Cabin Three, the sea was as rough as he'd ever seen it and the sky boomed with thunder and lightning every passing second. Percy ignored the twinge of fear that pricked his heart as his instincts and nerves spiked; Poseidon and Zeus were fighting.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** _There you have it, the first chapter! I know things haven't really picked off, but the next chapter will set the ball rolling. Thank you all for the support, it's definitely motivated me!_


	3. Execution of a Hero

The wind whistled around Percy as he took a hesitant step inside the memorial grounds. The area was barren of life but it was obviously very well kept. The leaves were raked, the statues polished, and a red and white striped flower was laid in front of most of the statues. It was an unusual flower to look at. It was glowing as if it was filled with the godly power of Olympus and Percy wondered if it was only found in Olympus.

In the middle of the clearing was a life-like gold statue of Luke Castellan. Percy swallowed the lump in his throat and cautiously circled the statue. Luke was in a fighting offense position, a nameless sword in his hand. It was definitely not Blackbiter, Percy nodded, feeling relieved at the thought.

The expression on Statue-Luke was the look every Demigod had whenever they entered battle. Furious and deadly and powerful. Just staring at the look sent shivers down Percy's spine.

He ended up walking away from Luke's statue, heading over, almost subconsciously, to the smaller group of statues in the left of Statue-Luke. It was statues of warrior girls - made from the same material as Luke's but their statues seemed to be glowing a subtle silver. A personal dedication to the fallen Hunters of Artemis from the Second Titan War and the Second Giant War.

There was Zoe Nightshade's statue, the fury on its face seemed almost too realistic for Percy. The rest of the statues were either following her or only a step behind her - like she was leading them to victory.

He yearned to touch the statue, wanting to put his hand on its shoulder to feel close to his almost-friend. But he reframed; the last time he'd tried to lay a hand on a Hunters' statue, he'd gotten a first-degree burn because of Artemis' blessing that warted off men.

He closed his eyes, shoving down the aching emotion of guilt pulling at his chest. When he opened them again, they landed on the statue next to Zoe's.

He didn't recognize who the person was but a small thought tugged at his brain. He knew he should know who the Italian looking girl was, but her name was on the tip of his tongue. He tried to remember, to force it out of him but he came up blank. Finally admitting defeat, Percy's eyes flickered down at the small inscribed mantle hammered into the base of the unknown girl's statue.

Bianca Di Angelo.

Bianca, he'd forgotten her. He'd forgotten her.

He didn't realize his body collapsing until his knees buckled and he was on his knees. Tears were streaming down his face, dripping off his chin and cheekbones. He didn't bother to wipe them away.

Instead, with barely a backward glance on the consequences, he desperately grasped Bianca Di Angelo's statue. The skin on his arms and hands were burning - smoke rising from the burning areas as it sizzled. The pain he was in was unbearable - the burn of Artemis' wrath and fury. He didn't let go.

He refused to let go.

Taking no thought of the burns already damaging his skin, he pressed his face against the cool metal of the statue's face, letting only a whimper slip through as his face fried. Tears landed on the statue and evaporated.

It was a terrible feeling, Percy reflected as he closed his eyes shut - tears still leaking as if he was a broken fountain. The statue was cold, freezing if he was honest, but he was getting burned and the cold was still there. He was freezing and getting roasted at the same time. He had to give Artemis credit - at least her methods of torture hadn't dampened.

Then the pain stopped, just stopped. For a second Percy wondered if his nerves had been killed, that could explain the sudden end of the pain. But the ground underneath his feet was cold, not the same freezing feeling as Bianca's statue but close enough. The ground was no longer dirt but hard, like he was kneeling on marble.

More importantly, his hands and legs were completely locked in a bundle of iron chains - securing him to the ground in a kneeling position. He cracked his eyes open and winced.

Percy could barely see out of his left eye and he doubted he looked very pretty at the moment. More than half his face had to be burned - scorched dead skin that he could no longer feel. The burns on his arms and hands were still burning but they'd cooled down and were now bright pinkish-red - like steel looked after it was tempered.

He craned his neck and squinted his eyes to make sure what he was seeing was real. He was in the council room, the entire council of the gods had been summoned - a few of them looking at him with heightened superiority, a few looking absolutely lotathing, and all of them towering over him by a good fifteen feet. The only empty seat was Apollo's, which was looking gray and rusty.

Percy opened his mouth to talk, but Zeus' booming voice interrupted him. "Perseus Jackson," he said, lifting his chin high in the air as he addressed the council, "has been found of accused of disrupting the nature of Artemis' Hunters. For his guilty standing, a vote must stand."

Most of the gods were looking at Percy now and he could feel their stares on him as he took a second to process what was happening. 'Accused of disrupting Artemis' Hunters'? What did that mean? The statues maybe, but would he really get punished for grieving?

He wanted to have faith in the council but a small voice reminded him that these were the same gods who decided that having no children would be the best way to stop a prophecy. Most of the goddesses were jealousy-ridden about mortals and each other, and the gods were only interested in chasing the next nymph or, in Hephaestus' case, building his next project. The gods weren't to be trusted.

Except . . . possibly his father. Percy looked up and tried to catch Posidean's eye, the same green eyes as his own. But his father didn't look at him - stubbornly staring straight ahead as if his son wasn't shackled to the floor, burnt and bleeding. "All in favor of Persues being guilty?"

The noises of nature and Zeus' booming voice became white noise - completely fading out as he stared in horror at the number of hands up. The only gods who hadn't voted against him were Aphrodite, Athena, Hermes, and Demeter. It was the majority vote, but Zeus still yelled, "All in favor of nonguilty," and they raised their hands, which made it even more pathetic.

"The council rules Persues Jackson guilty," Zeus yelled, nostrils flaring. Percy was panicking, a flurry of nerves and hurried thoughts rushed through his head. Hunters. Artemis.

He snuck a glance at Artemis and held back a wince. She was looking murderous in her adult form - flowing red hair and silvery eyes flashing with a thirst for blood. His blood specifically.

Percy got it now. In touching the blessed statues of the fallen hunters, he'd trespassed on his territory. He was going to be giving to the mercy of Artemis. He was sure of it.

"In light of your recent act of treason against an Olympian god, I banish you from the Greek world," Zeus finalized, slamming his lightning bolt down and striking Percy.

This isn't a punishment, Percy thought before everything could turn white, it's an execution.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** _Chapter two! Chapter two! I am on a roll, watch me go. I know that usually, the next chapter will be Chaos arriving and saving Percy and blab, blab, blab. This won't be that - if any of you are confused, Zeus didn't kill Percy._


	4. The Lost Connection Between Friends

Grover hadn't seen Percy since yesterday and he was beginning to feel worried. He'd noticed the boy sneaking away during Capture the Flag but hadn't had tried to stop him. He had merely watched his best friend slip away into the shadows with sad eyes before turning back to look at Chiron announcing the rules of Capture the Flag to the newcomers.

Percy ought to have some time away, Grover recalled himself thinking. He inwardly hit himself for not going after him and making sure everything was okay. He'd been getting bad feelings in his chest since Percy had disappeared, but kept silent; no one else seemed to be alarmed by the hero's disappearance so Grover tried to calm his emotions.

He wished he knew whether Percy was visiting the memorial grounds. It was a habit that had befallen the boy after the war, even before he and Annabeth had broken up. That worried the satyr even more.

Ever since Percy had disappeared, their nature link had weakened. It had been a natural connection that Grover set up between them when Percy had been thirteen and Grover were being held captive. He still got a warm, happy feeling in his chest when he remembered offering to sever the link and Percy saying that he was fine with it, to keep it.

The last time before Hera had snatched Percy away from him, their link had been weakened when Grover had been cursed with restless sleep. Even asleep, Grover had felt a pain just below his heart, just underneath his ribcage.

It had been an endless pain that he could have never healed because it wasn't just his pain alone, but Percy's too. Their connection had almost been snapped, cut up and ripped in half, left with only two shattered hearts.

It had been lucky for them, that their link had not been destroyed by Grover's sleeping curse, but it still left Grover extremely paranoid, especially when Percy put himself in danger's path.

After the Second Titan War, Percy was gone that time and their connection frayed, leaving Grover dizzy for months before his friend had been found. That had taught him to expect that danger would always follow Percy and as his protector, it was Grover's duty to help him survive. Which was what made the bad feeling in his stomach so important.

He pushed down the urge to run up to Chiron and demand that a search party is sent out for Percy as he and Juniper walked to breakfast. Around them, Nymphs and Dryads emerged from trees, the green or blue tints in their skin shining in the sun's rays as they chatted excitedly with friends and walked to breakfast.

Juniper and his arm were interlocked as his girlfriend softly talked about something that occurred between a nature spirit and a mermaid, Grover nodding along every few seconds. It was an unusually cold day, the sky glooming and thundering so much that it made Grover wonder what had gotten Zeus so riled up, and the air was thin and sharply cold.

Because of the coolness, Grover had thrown on an old, paint-splattered shirt and no jeans since he counted on his furry legs to keep themselves warm. Juniper didn't seem to notice the cold, as many nature spirits normally didn't feel the change in weather, so she hadn't added any protection over her simply elegant green dress that matched her tinted skin.

They reached the dining area and took a seat at the front picnic table with the rest of the satyrs and nymphs. Chiron was glancing around not so subtly and Grover wondered for a dreaded second if he was looking for Percy. He shook the thoughts out of his mind, looking at Juniper who gave him a sweet smile. But the worry was still there, gawing at his insides until he finally looked at Athena's table to look for a familiar blonde.

Annabeth was easily spottable at the Athena table, her hair ruffled as if she had run her hands through it many times and her face pinched with barely contained worry. As if she could feel his eyes on her, she twisted to look over her shoulder and her eyes widened, right eye twitching as if trying to communicate with Grover using her eyes.

Percy, she mouthed slowly and Grover felt the grip of fear that was probably pricking Annabeth. After Annabeth and Percy broke up, everyone, including Grover, had been confused.

They couldn't understand what had happened and hounded the couple for answers. But Grover tried not to over-step his boundaries. Instead of asking so many annoying questions, he'd thought about it and decided it wasn't his choice. In a weird way, their break up worked for the better.

They became friends again and, while they did have their awkward moments, it was nice. But Annabeth knew Percy and if she was worried about Percy, that meant something was wrong.

Grover nodded curtly, turning away from Annabeth and pinning his gaze to the chipped surface of the table. He felt Juniper gripping his hand underneath the table but the action faded from his mind. The noise from people muted into white noise as Grover reached out to Percy.

Using the link was like using a long winding road of packed dirt. It was surrounded by nothing but the water that smelled like Percy and put Grover at ease as he quickly jogged down the path to his friend. The smell was so clear and nice and Percy that Grover sniffed visible, a soft smile on his lips as he breathed in the smell. His pace didn't slow but quickened, now eager than ever to reach Percy.

He didn't notice the road thinning, until there was only just a long strip of land, because, in the distance, Grover spotted an outline of someone. Tall, slender, dark-hair and lightly-toasted skin.

Percy, Grover thought, relieved, Percy, Percy is okay. Percy. That was all he could think about. Then everything exploded.

The ground below his feet disintegrated into ashes, falling away to a dark pit that had replaced the water. Grover fell and he desperately reached his hand up for something - anything - and suddenly hooked his hand on a tight string of white rope.

The pit below him smelled like rotten eggs and something else, something Grover could place. All he knew was that it smelled dark - unforgiving and dark. He gripped the rope tighter, ignoring the way it cut into his palm. He had no desire to fall into a deep hole that smelled of rotten eggs - and death.

It came to him in a rush. That was why the smelled seemed so familiar - it was death. Grover smelt it many times than he'd liked to admit. It was a common thing to smell when around Demigods. His memory sparked and he craned his neck up with a cry.

Percy, how could he forget - but Percy was still there. Except he was balancing on the rope like he was a talented acrobat, his back still turned to Grover so Grover could only see his curled hair. Desperate to get his attention, he yearned out to him mentally. "PERCY!"

The cord snapped but Grover's eyes had already jerked open, pulling him away from the pit — and Percy. Dimly, he was aware that everyone was watching him with badly hidden curiosity. Percy was all that mattered. Ignoring the eyes on him, Grover stumbled to his feet, tugging his hand out of Juniper's.

His head pounded and he spun around wildly, tipsy and confused as the faces watching him blurred into a big melted image. _Percy_. Chiron was suddenly in front of Grover, towering over him with his tall Centaur frame.

Gently, his mentor grasped his shoulders, anchoring him down. "Grover?" he asked. _That's nice, he's worried_ , Grover thought as a sharp, unbarable spike of pain shoot up his chest.

He ripped away from Chiron, a cry dislodging from his throat as he fell to the ground with a _thump_. Grover felt pain but it didn't compare to what he felt inside. Everything was twisting and folding, making him queasy. He could feel his heart shattering as if it was a delicate glass structure that someone hadn't been careful with. The cold shattered ends of his heart poked at his chest, three pin needles pricking him.

 _Loneliness, fear, guilt._ Percy. Grover's head craned upwards, his eyes still carring a wild sparkle in them, he was sure. Percy, their connection, broken, snapped. His hands went to his white shirt as he felt a sticky substance spread across his chest. The cloth gave away easily as Grover ripped it open, a tearing sound echoing through out the area.

Grover stared down at the puddle on blood on his chest, dripping onto the ground in drops of scarlet red. Grover gently lifted a finger and wiped it across the bloody area—searching for a wound.

He pulled away, his finger coated in blood that wasn't his.

"He's dead," Grover whispered, speaking in a low tone as if fearing people would hear. But they heard, the clearing exploding to a round of disbelief. Chiron took a step back, eyes widened. They both ignored the commotion going on around them.

"He's dead," Grover repeated, then twisted his head to the side and threw up.

—

The first thing Percy was aware of was that it was cold. So cold that he would feel the air seep into his skin and freeze his blood and bones. The cold cut through the skin of his face but he could only feel part of it—the other half of his face was numb.

He couldn't feel a thing, which was probably what panicked him so much that he'd woken up. The second thing Percy was aware of was that he was alive.

He rapidly ran his hands over his body to check that he was actually there and not dreaming. Other than a few burns on his arms, he seemed fine. A quick scan around the room he was in confirmed that he was alone. He was in a neat and comfortably prepared room. The bed he was in was soft and made up of warm blankets and pillows, an elegant marble fireplace was crackling in the corner of the room, but there were no personal possessions visible to the eye. A guest room, probably, not someone's bedroom.

 _Zeus_ , he thought suddenly, _Artemis, the council_. In an instant, the events from before rushed back to him and Percy wished he was unconscious again.

At least when he's been unconscious he had been in a state of nothing—just existing and not suffering the burden of panic that was trying to suffocate him. What was Zeus planning to do? The king's words rung out in his head: _exiled from the Greek world_.

Had he been serious? Percy had fully expected him to hand him over to Artemis, that seemed like as the better option than getting exiled. But was it really? Artemis despised men, Percy recalled resentfully, even those who were just children. He didn't doubt that she had some convenient way to punish him if she'd been given the chance. But getting exiled from his birthright seemed to be crueler than anything the goddess could ever conjure up.

Being aware of the Greek world but not being apart of it would be painful. He felt his pocket for Riptide, felt a wisp of relief when his finger brushed its cold surface and took it out. The cap of the ballpoint pen glimmered off the sunlight beams breaking through the curtains of the window. He held it up to eye-level and managed a smile, small but genuine.

Riptide was still with him, it hadn't abandoned him. It still thought he was worthy to carry an impressive blade like itself, unlike everyone else—like his own father. Posideon had betrayed him. As if watching himself from a distance, Percy raised a numb hand to uncap the pen, watching with a blank face as it converted into a gleaming legendary sword.

He might've stared at the inscription for at least thirty minutes. This sword wasn't just a connection to his father, but a connection to Zoë, who believed he'd make a better hero than Hercules. So much faith in a male who she deemed as a friend. She'd thought of _him_ as a friend.

Percy's eyes wandered down to his arms and his mouth parted wordlessly. The burns would never heal, he realized as he twisted his left arm to assess the damage done on his forearm. All this, plus his exile, all because he cried over the blessed statues of his dead friends—who had died because of him. It should've not surprised him.

Artemis was known to be ruthless to males who'd been at the wrong place at the wrong time. In the old stories, Percy remembered dimly, she'd once given a young boy the chance to die or change into a girl after he'd accidentally come upon her and her hunters. She was a heartless being and Percy should've known better than to expect her to see males as anything other than lowlife pigs.

He looked again at Riptide and felt the same feeling he'd gotten right before he'd touched Bianca's statue. He was locked out of his mind as he pulled Riptide closer to him and hugged the blade to his body, squeezing tightly and not paying to the blood seeping from the wounds. The sharpened point of Riptide was digging into his collarbone, drawing blood out and staining the bed and the clothes he was wearing. The edges of the blade were driving deep cuts down his arms, allowing rivers of blood to run down his elbows and to stain his sword.

A steady path of tears was carving their way through his face, slipping off his cheekbones and dripping on the sword. His shoulders shook, pushing the blade into his body deeper as his mouth opened in a silent sob. A low moan slipped from his mouth and as suddenly as he'd heard it, it shifted into a loud, heartbreaking scream.

His eyes were somehow closed, tears still leaking out of them as the blade drew more blood. Faces flashed through the darkness: Annabeth, Nico, Bianca, Zoë, Piper, Jason, Leo, Frank, his mother . . . .

A sound cut through the painful reminders of his family, a door slamming open. And someone was yanking Riptide out of his bloody hands, an accented voice saying frantic words in an unknown language. Percy didn't bother to open his eyes to check who it was, even as he felt a soft hand wrenching his mouth open and popped a small, easily-swallowable pill in his mouth.

He swallowed soundlessly, eyes still closed as he heard the accented voice converse with another person—a man, who was speaking in a heavy English accent. He felt a wave of dizziness spread through-out his body, quieting down his mind and thoughts as his arms fell numb next to him. _A sleeping pill_ , he thought, _clever_.

From his haziness, Percy could barely make out the few words he could understand.

" . . . Amazing that he's still alive. Don't know where he got the sword . . . At least ten different three degree burns, all over . . . Dead nerves . . . I don't understand, he should be bloody dead . . ."


	5. A Ballroom of Dancers and Luke Castellen

Percy dreamed of a ballroom. A glorious ballroom filled with elegant-looking people who danced to the beat of the classical music coming from nowhere and everywhere. It was obviously a throne room because of the two tall thrones on the left of Percy, all mighty with warped gold and silver, and another black metal. There were five steps in front of the thrones, leading up to the raised platform where the thrones sat. The backs were slim, and carved into the shorter one was the picture of a broken crown, split in half like a broken heart would look like. The other had the symbol of a deeply detailed sword, pointing downward with its hilt up to the ceiling as if it was a sword hanging over the ruler's head, suspended only by some thin string.

Only one of the thrones were occupied, the tallest of the two, by an old wrinkly man who must have been in his seventies. On his balding white head, a surprisingly simple crown was propped up, halfway slipping off. The crown, Percy saw as he stared closer at the object, had a visible crack down its middle. Just like the carved picture.

The crown symbolized power.

A cracked crown represented organized chaos. A person who ruled ruthlessly but did it well enough that no one suspected. A king who held full power, Percy thought, his eyes sliding to the empty throne, without a Queen to keep him level and calm. He looked back at the King levelly, resisting the overwhelming urge to respectfully bow and grovel at the man's feet. The King was his superior and Percy was lucky to be in his mere presence.

His knees almost gave out underneath him and he stumbled back, bumping into someone or something but miraculously managed not to land on the floor. He raised his eyes and froze as he met the King's frosty glare.

It froze the boy from the inside of his core, like ice slowly entering your body, stopping your blood and killing you, through and through. A dragon stare that would stop your enemy from moving, keep them suspended in fear. The King was ruthless as his gray, storm-breading eyes, so much like Annabeth's that Percy had to forcibly remind himself that it wasn't Annabeth, dug into Percy's mind savagely. Like a small child tearing up their room to look for their favorite toy, the King ripped through Percy's mind for his secrets.

Stop, Percy thought desperately. Not to himself, but to the King. Stop now, he thought, I've done nothing to deserve this, leave me. As if he could hear him, the King looked away, not a flicker of interest or impressiveness on his face. Only the slight look of smugness and glee and thoughtfulness. At weaknesses, Percy reflected dizzyingly, the King takes joy in people's pain.

Before he could dwell on the King's cruel methods, or whatever Percy had felt in him, something behind the thrones caught his attention, allowing his lips to part in astonished surprise. Three windows, all on the wall behind the thrones, allowed Percy a glimpse outside, but not really outside. Each window was beautifully made, tall and narrow, all shining and made of three separate materials. But what made Percy so shocked was what he saw through each of them. In the right window, crafted out of delicately placed gold and lined with the strange black metal of what Percy suspected was the same of Nico's Underworld blade, he saw the fiery white rage of a snowstorm, beautiful and cold and unforgiving.

On the left, it showed a divine summer's day with sounds of children laughing which could be heard even with all the music and dancing and talking.

Forcibly, Percy pushed away from the sick feeling of homesickness as he tried not to think of Camp Half-Blood. I banish you from the Greek world.

Percy jerked his head away. His eyes landed on the third window and he froze as if the king was still staring at him. It was Tartarus, just as he'd remembered it. Air smokey and glass sticking up from the ground. He remembered when he and Annabeth had been so close to escaping Tartarus and then Tartarus himself had appeared. Percy had felt frozen, his sword slipping out of his hand as he glazed into Tartarus' swirling face.

At that moment of helplessness, it was as if he'd fallen into the river of Misery. What's the point, he'd thought, maybe this is where you die, at the hands of an elder god: be grateful.

He didn't feel grateful now.

Instead, his hands shook as he desperately reaching into his pocket for Riptide, for his blade to protect him, even if it had failed him before. To his absolute relief, Riptide was there, in his pocket in its normal pen form. He felt a deadly calmness settle in his body as he finally noticed that his ratty "Half-Blood Hill" shirt had been replaced by a proper black suit that could be fit for a prince.

His fingers, rough and scabbed from the wars and battles he's been in, tipped the cap of the pen off and a moment Riptide was in its full glory. It was shining bright and cutting through the air like a glowing star. Riptide was no longer a weapon, Percy thought as he crouched down a little bit, it was a part of him, an extension of his hand.

Percy looked back up and tried his best to hid his shock. Two of the windows had disappeared and only the wintry one remained.

Percy cleared his throat, recapped Riptide - the blade shrinking down - and stared at his feet. The floor echoed noise like marble but looked like gold with nets of beautiful, silver veils. He was sure he imagined the windows.

It was a masquerade ball, everyone covering their identity with beautifully crafted masks, all of them gold or silver or any other precious metal.

In one of the corners stood a tall girl who looked like Percy's age. Her thick, dark brown hair fell in a braid within the bare skin between her shoulder blades. She was maybe the only person other than Percy and the king that wasn't dancing, but she was highhandedly the most distracting person to look at. Her dress was a dark midnight blue that was so dark that it was black like her hair.

Her face was hidden by her simple diamond mask but he could see her scowl, the way she hunched her shoulders - she didn't want to be there. There were fine jewels dripping down the sides of the dress and it had a big hoop that obviously made her uncomfortable.

The dress complimented her dark-skinned complexion and wasn't tight around the waist but revealing at the collarbone and back so it made Percy blush just by looking. Suddenly, as if she could sense his eyes, she twisted around to look at him, her braid flying around to rest on her shoulder fashionably.

Percy took a step back as his own green eyes met brown ones. He could see swirls of other colors in her eyes but there were too many shades to remember. Gold. Chocolate. Amber. Chestnut. Coffee. Copper. He blinked, shoving the colors out of mind as he looked away from the girl, suddenly feeling embarrassed at getting caught staring.

The next thing that caught his attention was the beautiful fountain in the middle of the ballroom. The main attraction of it was a mermaid with water flowing easily from her opened mouth. Her body was arched and crafted with carefully placed metals. The fountain itself was a thing of beauty, catching the light every second Percy stared at it.

The amount of gold should've been flashy, yet with the elegance of royalty and the ball, it really blended in with the design. Percy's feet moved of their own accord as he dodged dancers as they gracefully danced the waltz perfectly, all of them flowing with a level of professionalism and practice that Percy didn't have.

With no time, he was at the fountain and the water was only a few inches away. His fingers brushed the surface but he didn't plunge his hand in like he expected himself to do.

He hesitated, noticing for the first time that people had thrown numerous coins inside the fountain. The coins gleamed like hidden treasure, the image shifting with the sway of the water as flashes of light changed the water's color. Percy didn't know how long he stood there watching the coins in a transfixed, distracted way.

A hand landed on his shoulder and years of Demigod training kicked in. Percy yanked the hand off his shoulder and hunched down to flip the person over his shoulder. A slender almost frail body flew above him and landed hard on the ground.

A flash of blonde hair caught Percy's eyes and he pressed his foot against the body mercilessly. He held the hand that was previously on his shoulder, caging it and twisting it downwards. The man underneath him yelped as Percy increased the pressure on the hand, pushing it down so small sounds of bones breaking echoed throughout the ballroom.

It took Percy a second to notice why. The music had magically stopped and everyone was looking at him, even the king and the mysterious scowling girl in the corner. But she was no longer scowling but wearing a mask of netruelness, as if she was waiting to see what he would do. So did the rest of the dancing guests.

By their body language and face expressions, Percy could detect the looks of curiosity but not anyone was impressed, or even worried about the fair-haired boy Percy had flipped. The boy whimpered, not crying out like most people would have done.

Percy looked back at him and realized three things: he was subconsciously pressing down on the boy's wrist, the boy had obviously been trained not to show pain, and lastly, he wasn't wearing a mask. Percy stared, his hands loosening and then falling to his side as he numbly stepped away from the boy.

The blonde had gotten up, his eyes shining with irritation, his handsome face twisted in controlled pain. He was favoring his wrist, using the other hand to rub his chest absentmindedly. "That is definitely going to bruise. I have sensitive skin," he commented casually as if Percy and he were just old-time friends catching up over coffee.

Despite his worries about his skin, the blonde grinned a lopsided grin at Percy that brought back memories Percy wished he could forget. "Normally, I'm not into the whole bruising- and flipping-kinky thing," Luke Castellan said, the white scar on his face more pale and haunting than ever. "But for you, my old friend, I'll make an exception."


	6. Kings, Swords, and Zoe, Oh My!

After getting abandoned by all of the Greek gods and getting basically kicked out of the Greek world itself, Percy doubted anyone could judge his next actions. Nobody could blame Percy when he lunged at Luke—a vicious look that you could only see in someone who was aiming to kill.

Adrenaline pumped through Percy's bloodstream as he sat on top of a now struggling Luke and pounded every surface of the available skin. He was in a blind rage that made his mind forget about everything—his exile, his burns—and narrow in on the blonde demon who'd ruined his life.

Maybe if Luke hadn't appeared so suddenly, Percy would have just slapped or punched him once. But that hadn't happened and the green-eyed boy was blind to all that was happening.

A bloodthirsty feeling bloomed in his stomach, much like how a flower bloomed beautifully in the sunlight. But the anger and bloodthirstiness and burning rage were not beautiful at all.

Everything about the emotion and feeling in his body was wrong, disgusting. Percy didn't care. He struck Luke once more on the nose, causing a gush of blood to spray on the floor and stain Percy's hands and Luke's face. His mind yelled at him to stop, to let Luke explain, to not kill him.

But his heart overcame his mind, cheering him on and demanding he kill the traitor, to serve justice to all the people who'd died because of Luke. Zoe, Bianca, Michael, Selina, Charles, Lee, and countless others.

Percy's hands moved on their own accord: reaching for Luke's exposed neck and squeezing. The boy thrashed and a weird gurgling sound came from his mouth. Percy felt a spike of pleasure go through him and he blanched, his hands loosening. Then he gathered himself and began strangling him again.

Luke had joined the Titans and gave Kronos a new body, his heart told him furiously—feeding his rage like it was a fire. He'd killed all of them.

"Stop, now," an unfamiliar voice said from behind them. Percy felt complied to turn, to give his attention. But he didn't move, his thirst for revenge too strong.

He remembered a saying Chiron had once told him when they'd been discussing Luke. " _Vincit qui se vincit._ " _He conquers who conquers himself_. But he was too driven in killing Luke that he dismissed all of what Chiron was trying to teach him: The key is leading with your mind, not your heart.

"I order you to stop this instance," a different person than before said. The coldness in the sentence made Percy stop and turn around. The king was standing over him, the girl from the corner stood behind him—her dark eyes glimmering as she peered down at Percy.

The King lifted a sword up to Percy's neck, digging the blade point into his neck, nicking the skin. Blood trailed down Percy's chest and soaked the front of his fancy shirt. The bade itself was magnificent to look at. It was a traditional sword, with a steel blade. A cursive inscription was carved into the side of it. _Of Bronze and Gold._

"Get off him now," the king commanded and Percy couldn't help but think of Nico. The King had the same effect on people as Nico did—even without being loud, people heard everything he said. The crown on his head was gone, leaving his head bald and shining, and Percy noticed for the first time that his voice was heavily accented and his face had traces of Japanese heredity in it. "Luke may be annoying but it's too much of a haste to hire somebody else to draw my baths."

Maybe it was supposed to be a joke but nobody laughed. The dancers were still staring at the scene in front of them, the women melting into their partners' side as their slinky dresses swished at their ankles.

From underneath Percy, Luke's chest rumbled as he choked out a laugh. He stopped suddenly and twisted his head to spit out some blood. Percy winced—the guilt had driven out the animal feeling in him. Only fresh guilt remained. But, as he stared at the King—who looked like a person who'd faced death many times—he also felt pure fear.

"I'm s—sorry," he whispered, rubbing his fingers together and feeling the sickening smoothness of blood. Luke's blood.

"Get off him," the King repeated. The point of the sword dug deeper into Percy's skin but it drew back as Percy swung his leg off of the limp body underneath him.

He couldn't help the feeling of disgust invading his body. He didn't know what came over him, that bloodthirstiness that overcame his voice of reason. The feeling had invaded his every sense, filling his veins with the need for revenge. Percy touched his burned cheek absentmindedly, sliding away from Luke and the King so he was no longer touching him.

He leaned his back against the leg of a table which had gold markings and silver plating. Perhaps a table that was filled with food, Percy thought hungrily. He shook the thoughts away, hunger was hardly something he needed to focus on. The King nodded approvingly, gracefully sliding the sword into its scabbard. It was only then did Percy notice that the hilt of the sword was gold, with swirling designs curling around the end.

The King looked around the ballroom coolly, his mouth set to a scowl. "Why has the music stopped?" He demanded, raising an eyebrow and spreading his arms wide. Immediately, the music started up again—as suddenly as it had stopped.

The King chuckled, sending a new wave of shivers down Percy's spine. It just felt wrong, for the King—who was scary and emotionless—to laugh, even if it wasn't even out of amusement.

The ruler swept out of Percy's sight, getting swallowed up by the crowds of people. Some of the dancers exchanged looks with their partners, giving the King nervous side-glances. But they eventually resumed their formal waltz-like dancing.

The girl hovered in front of Luke's groaning body, wearing a mask of cold indifference but her hands—which she was nervously twisting together—showed just how worried she was. Slowly, Luke Castellan got up, blood dripping down his face in disturbingly lovely rivers of liquid red.

They both paid no attention to Percy, who was staring at them curiously, his hands dragging across his face and leaving his face with dirty fingerprints coated in Luke's wet blood.

"Well," the girl said sharply, "for a second there, I thought he'd killed you. You seemed dead." She didn't say it in a concerned way but as if she was disappointed that he was still breathing. She sniffed, folding her hands together in a way that reminded Percy of a princess. "Shame, it would have been entertaining,"

Luke gave her a dry look, then mockingly offered her a smile as he picked himself off the floor and stood a few feet away from her. "I'm so glad my death would've brought you pleasure." He grinned and playfully shoved her shoulder. "Admit it—you would've missed me if I ever died."

She glared at him sharply, her button nose cutely scrunching up, as if Luke was garbage someone had left lying around in her house. "I'll admit nothing, boy. Certainly not that I find your company even slightly pleasurable. Like his majesty said, it'll simply be too much trouble to hire more help."

"As if you pay me!" Luke snorted, but Percy's attention was now only focused on the princess-like girl. Something sparked in his mind, a single flame of recognition in the pit of darkness that was his mind.

But it couldn't have been. . . .

"Zoe?" he whispered, his voice cracking as his face twisted. Luke and Zoe looked directly at him.

She noticed the look of panic and his extremely heavy breathing. Her stern face softened. Out the corner of his eye, Percy spotted Luke's face turning concerned. He felt a spike of sadness in his heart.

From the start of his Demigod life, he'd never known a Luke who hadn't been corrupted by his hatred for the gods. Somehow, in a place completely unfamiliar, Percy was meeting that Luke—the one who was a normal teenager who joked about normal teenager things. The Luke Annabeth had always known—the one who was her friend and brother.

Percy wondered if that was why Annabeth had such a hard time accepting the fact that Luke was evil beyond redemption. It made him furious for some reason. The blonde boy in front of him could be seen as just a child. Anyone who looked at him could never imagine him capable of hundreds of deaths.

When Percy looked at him that was all he imagined. But Luke couldn't have been there; neither could Zoe because they were dead—Percy had seen them die. However, they were still there when he closed his eyes and opened them again, silently praying they would just disappear.

"Oh gods," he said to himself softly, throwing his head back and it softly bumped the table edge. "I'm dead. I-I'm dead!"

His breathing was definitely increasing now. Percy was panicking and he felt like he couldn't breathe. He was reminded of the time of his mission with Hazel and Frank when he had drowned in tar because of Gaea. That was how he felt now—panicked and unable to breathe and dying.

But he wasn't drowning and there was only one thing that came to mind—panic attack. Percy's vision narrowed, becoming hazy and unfocused. He didn't notice Zoe and Luke moving until they were each on one side of him. Luke laid a soft hand on his shoulder to steady him, while Zoe tried to calm him down—telling him to count to ten with calm measured breathing.

He did. Eventually, he realized Luke was hugging him, supporting him even after Percy had pummeled him; another jolt of guilt went through Percy's body.

"Am I dead?" He asked, twisting his hands into Luke's shirt and pulling him closer to him. His vision was invaded by blonde hair but Percy didn't care. Luke was as warm as a heater and he didn't protest—just leaned forward so Percy could hug him better. "Did Zeus kill me?"

Zoe frowned. "You are alive," she assured him. "Zeus has exiled you, but there would have been war if he killed Poseidon's son."

Obviously, she meant that to sound comforting, but Percy could only see it as one sick joke. "As if Poseidon cared," he scoffed, drawing back from Luke. "He voted in favor of my exile." They looked shocked, angry, curious. Luke opened his mouth to say something but Percy quickly cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I don't want to talk about it, just tell me what this place is."

"This," Zoe said, her eyes scanning the ballroom with a look of honest affection, "is Elysium."

Percy swallowed the lump in his throat. "Elysium," he echoed. He licked his dry lips. "Huh, thought it would be . . . you know, bigger."

Luke snickered openly but tried to smother his laughter when Zoe looked at him, her face pinched and expressed. She rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath. It sounded suspiciously like _'stupid boys,'_ but Percy didn't dwell on it. He was more focused on the fact that he was in the Underworld.

"So"—he took a calming breath—"I-I _am_ dead?"

"No!" Zoe snapped, her body tense. "You're dreaming! None of this is real."

Luke gave her a side look, angling his body so Percy could no longer see Zoe. He muttered something to her and a moment later, she got up and walked away—the back of her body taut and pinched.

Luke gave him a warm smile that put Percy at ease. "Sorry about that. Sometimes Zoe forgets that boys aren't so bad," he said, gracefully sitting down next to Percy. His eyes were a beautiful shade of blue that Percy guessed they could put shame to even the most magnificent oceans.

"What did she mean," Percy began, looking away from Luke, "about this not being real?"

Instead of answer his question, Luke said, "Do you know the story of Excalibur?"

Percy shook his head. "Who doesn't? I know a little bit about the legend but I'm not a walking Wikipedia."

"The stories said that whoever pulled the sword out of the stone would lead Camelot out of its Dark Age," Luke said. "Now the thing was, the world wasn't just suffering from plagues and whatnot, but also, monsters—Greek and Roman monsters, to be exact. . ."

Imperial Gold and Celestial Bronze hadn't been invented back then, so Demigods had no way to fight monsters. The entire world was completely unprotected and the gods couldn't help because of the Ancient Laws. A mage by the name of Merlin saw all the destruction and death and wanted to help.

He went to the gods but they turned him away. Many stories about Merlin claimed he was a warlock or simply one of King Arthur's advisor, but in truth—he was a son of Hecate. After the Olympians rejected his plea, he fearlessly traveled to the Underworld and sought out the help of Hades.

Hades gave him Imperial Gold and Celestial Bronze and advised him to use them wisely. Out of the metals, Merlin crafted Excalibur—the sole savior of humanity.

It was a mix of Greek and Roman, which made it beyond powerful. Fearing that corrupt Demigods would try to seize its power, Merlin enchanted it to only respond in the hands of its rightful owner.

Before long, a hero named Arthur came along, a son of Zeus, of course. With his help and Excalibur, Demigods followed him to the Age of Heroes. But after a while, the Greeks and Romans started disagreeing. Fights broke out and people got slaughtered.

Eventually, the gods decided it was best that they separate the two. There was some fear that in separating Romans and Greeks, the monsters would overrun the world again and the gods would fade because of that.

But even without knowing, the Romans and Greeks balanced each other out—Bronze and Gold together. The Age of Darkness was over and Roman and Greek lived peacefully in ignorance.

* * *

"Why are you telling me this?" Percy demanded, narrowing his eyes. Luke rolled his eyes.

"Think," he simply said. "Greeks and Romans. Bronze and Gold."

Percy studied the smiling dancing couples then slowly turned to look at the throne. The King wasn't sitting on it anymore, but rather he was dancing with a white-haired man with sharp cheekbone and a black woman whose face was hidden by a mask. The sword the King had held up to Percy's neck was still by his side, in its stealth, which flashed under the beaming lights of the ballroom.

The white-haired man the King was dancing with caught Percy's eye and he threw him a vicious animal-like smile. Percy looked away, shivering at the man and the sword both.

"Excalibur," he whispered. Luke smiled and clapped him on the shoulder as Percy raised a hand to touch his neck. The cut was already healing, clotting up and closing—but he could still feel the sword on his neck, the way it drained all of his energy and calmed him down.

Percy tightened his hands into fists. He raised a shaking finger to point at the King—who'd moved on to dance with a girl with short hair that curled at her ears. "You're telling me— _that's_ King Arthur? That scary man is King Arthur?"

Luke shot a warning look at him. "Careful," he warned. "He doesn't take well to people calling him crazy. And to answer your question, no—"

"Oh thank god—"

"—he's King Arthur's descendant."

Percy gave him a sarcastic smile. "Oh! That makes it so much better!"

"This is the Underworld and you're dreaming about it," Luke patiently explained. Percy quieted down; this was the part he wanted to hear. "The reason why"—Luke fidgeted under Percy's questioning gaze—"well. . . . When Zeus cast you out, he took away part of your bloodline, the godly part. Now, even a god can't take away a person's parentage—even through disowning

"Think of it as a wolf pack. The Greek and Roman world is the pack and all the demigods are protected and they're together. If one of them gets cast out, they become an Omega—a loner. You're still a wolf but you're alone. You're still a Demigod—"

"—But I'm all alone," Percy finished bitterly. He dragged his hands down his face with a groan, his thumbs ghosting over the scar on his neck. "Monsters will still come after me and I'll still have dreams. Because of my scent and my fa—Poseidon."

"All this," Luke said, his clear blue eyes scanning the ballroom with a look of pure affection, "is just a dream, a fantasy."

They didn't say anything for a long time. Percy let Luke's words sink in. _Just a dream, a fantasy._

Finally, he said, "If this is just a dream, why is everyone dressed like it's the Medieval Times?"

Luke shrugged. "Maybe you have a medieval kink or something. I mean, you have to admit I look dashing in this suit." He tugged on the collar of his jacket, smirking like he was gods' gift to everyone.

The frown on Percy's mouth deepened. "What is it with you and kinks? Not everything has to do with it!" he snapped, annoyed with Luke, with everything that was happening to him, with his terrible luck. "Oh, Geez. I'm going crazy."

Luke barked out a laugh as Percy ran his hands through his tangled hair. It felt like it was matted with thick liquid and when Percy pulled his hands back, they were coated in blood. He blinked and his hands were suddenly clean—scarred and dirty but not bloody; he must have imagined it.

Percy wiped his sweaty hands on his soft cotton pants then jumped to his feet. Luke followed him a moment later, his hands in his pocket and a grin still on his face. "Deuteronomy 28:34 'You shall be driven mad by the sight of what you see,'" he recited knowingly.

Percy looked around the ballroom, his eyes passing over the dancers as he searched for Zoe. "You're Christian?"

"Well, my mother may have been crazy, but she raised me well," Luke said. "Of course, after learning of the existence of gods, I think that belief system went out the window."

Percy couldn't help but look at him with a baffled expression. The last time he'd seen Luke and his mother, Luke had been so angry at her. For him to talk about her so casually was so unexpected—and he wondered what and who had helped him overcome his dark feelings. Maybe Zoe had helped him; they certainly seemed close enough for them to be friends.

"If you're looking for Zoe," Luke began, raising a finger to point, "she's over in her corner, looking quite angry and a little . . . constipated."

Percy gave him a questioning look before setting off in Zoe's direction, pushing past couples and keeping his eyes on the girl. He was so set on reaching that he almost missed what happened next: A pretty young man passing right through him.

Percy stopped in his tracks. The dancing didn't flatter at all—not even a backward glance that indicated the man had felt himself phase through Percy. Percy glanced down at his hands just as Luke reached him. His hands, long-jointed and thin, had developed a ghostly aura around them.

"Oh damn it," Luke muttered, reaching for Percy's hands. After a few attempts of trying to holding them, which left Percy's feeling like someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on him, Luke managed to catch Percy's hands between his own. "You're waking up."

Luke's hands were warm, heating up Percy's cold ones, and the feel of them made Percy calm down. He remembered Luke and Zoe sitting by his side and calming down his panic attack.

"Remember," Luke said, his eyebrows knit together with dry blood tracing down his cheek. Percy's eyesight flickered and he caught himself swaying. Luke's voice was barely audible as he said, "you're no longer protected."

Percy's last thought before he woke up was, _when have I ever been protected?_

* * *

Author's Note: So yeah, I'm adding medieval mythology into this, with King Auther, Excalibur, and Merlin. Obviously, this will be relevant to the story.

Also, I can't believe I'm considering having Pansexual/Bisexual! Percy and pairing him up with Luke and Zoe in a Polyamorous relationship.

Reality? I don't know her.


End file.
